


Awkward

by Miko



Category: Zombie Loan
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-25
Updated: 2009-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-05 06:24:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/38698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miko/pseuds/Miko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a little awkward when it's someone else's hand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Awkward

**Author's Note:**

  * For [haraamis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/haraamis/gifts).



Having someone else's hand on your cock, jerking you off, is not supposed to be a bad thing. Okay, there're some obvious exceptions. But I'm not talking about, y'know, rape or anything. Just lying on a bed, feeling pretty good and getting in the mood, and ooh, hey, that's not your hand sliding inside your pants to give you a little squeeze. You got to 2, awesome!

Problem is, the first time I realized that it was someone else's hand touching me, there wasn't anyone else in the room with me. Yay for being a zombie who got reanimated with the wrong hand by mistake? Fuck my life, seriously.

So there I am, curled up on my bed with a very nice centrefold from the newest mag, my balls just starting to tingle, and what pops into my head? _Weird, I'm using Shito's hand to do this._

Shut me down pretty damned fast, I can tell you. I ended up taking a nice, long, very cold shower before I went to sleep, instead.

You wouldn't think it would be such a big hairy deal. Ugh, oh gods, bad choice of words. No bringing big hairy things into it. Okay, you wouldn't think it'd be such an issue. I mean, it's attached to my arm and I'm the one telling it what to do, so it's my hand, right? It's not like Shito's controlling it, or in any way involved other than the fact that it's his DNA rubbing up against my cock and not mine. He doesn't even know it's going on.

Not sure I can put into words just why it _was_ such a big deal, but it was. Trust me. Shito being in any way involved in the process of me getting off was just So Not Okay.

Multiple cold showers were not in my plans for the immediate future, that's for sure. I don't care what some religions say about masturbation being evil or sexual frustration being good for your soul or whatever. Religions are fucked in the head to start with in my opinion, and I'm non-living proof that most of 'em are pretty far off base, to boot. Teenage boys are not built to go without some kind of sex at frequent intervals. Preferably very frequent.

I tried using my left hand, but it was awkward as fuck and not nearly as good. The idea of those awful blow-up dolls and fake cunts left me cold. Only jerking off when I had my own hand might've helped a bit, but the only time we switched was to go hunting and by the time we were done our hour was usually up. Having my hand _rot off_ while fapping was even less appealing a thought than doing it with Shito's hand.

It's not like I could just ask him to switch with me when I wanted to do it, either. For one thing, do you have any idea how fucking awkward it is to _plan_ it to that extent? For another, the first word out of his mouth would've been 'Why?' and I was just not going there. No way.

So I went back to my left hand, and suffered.

That's not the worst of it, though. Oh, no. The worst wasn't even when I caught myself wondering what it would feel like to have Shito's hand on me for real - y'know, with him actually being _attached_ to it at the time. That squicked me a little, but I could handle it. Having someone else get you off is supposed to feel better, so it's natural to wonder about it, right? Even if the 'someone' was my asshole of a partner.

No, the worst was when it occurred to me that Shito might be using _my_ hand. Sure, he's left-handed, but what if he wasn't for this?

I caught myself watching him, especially first thing in the morning, trying to figure out if he'd been polishing his piece recently. Wondering if he was using my hand, and if he'd _realized_ it the same way I had. If it bothered him and made him try to stop, if he had realized it.

If so, he sure wasn't showing any signs of it. He just snapped at me for not paying attention to the hunt, or growled at me to stop staring at him like some kind of zoo display. Hell, for all I know he doesn't even have any sexual desires. It wouldn't surprise me in the least.

But that didn't stop me from thinking about it, and then thinking about it some more.

The night I finally broke was just after my last exam. I was tired, my brain was cramped from studying too much, and all I wanted was to sleep. But my body was still totally keyed up, all that adrenalin rushing through my system and keeping me wide awake. You'd think the one good thing about dying in a horrible car accident would be that you wouldn't have to worry about ascension exams anymore.

Well, there was one good way to deal with tension and adrenalin. I reached down and wrapped my fingers around my cock, my breath escaping me in a stifled gasp. Moaning, I tilted my head back into the pillow and closed my eyes, concentrating on how good it felt as I stroked myself. At least I was getting better at using my left hand, even if it was still awkward.

Despite myself, I wondered if Shito was doing the same, just on the other side of the crumbling wall. I could almost see it in my mind's eye; his red eyes half closed with pleasure, dark hair sliding over his face to hide his expression further, and little gasps escaping him as my hand squeezed his cock...

Groaning, I stopped for a moment, panting. Damn it, I was not going to think about Shito jacking off while I did the same. I certainly wasn't going to think about him doing it with my hand.

After a moment I started stroking again, feeling little curls of flame lick at my gut and pull at my balls. I rocked my hips, and teased myself a little. I slid my fingers down lower, releasing my cock and teasing at my sac instead. The callus on my fingers was rough against the soft, sensitive skin, catching and pulling on the crisp hair there. His hand wasn't as rough, so maybe he did use mine, just for the extra stimulation. I wondered if the skin of his dick was softer than mine, too. I wondered what it would feel like to have my hand wrapped around him, stroking...

Aw, _fuck_ it.

With a gasp I gave in, and dropped my right hand down to wrap around my cock, still pulling at my balls with my left. If I was gonna think about it, I might as well enjoy myself properly, damn it.

I squirmed and moaned, torturing myself with a too-tight grip, the way I imagined he might. Yeah, he'd probably love to get me at his mercy, have total control over me in a way that I couldn't fight back. Then again, if he had his hand on my cock I'd probably have mine on his, and I could tease with the best of 'em. I pictured him writhing beneath me, the friction of my hand on his dick easing as precome slicked the flesh.

He would speed up in retaliation, his softer hand sliding easily against my cock. I could almost hear his low, husky voice, cursing me out as I continued to tease him, threatening to stop even though it would mean I would stop, too.

And then he would squeeze tight, so tight, his palm rubbing over the head of my cock once, twice, and then...

I choked on a scream as orgasm hit me hard, maybe harder than ever before. My hand, _his_ hand, was covered in sticky fluid as I came. Panting and trembling, I lay on the bed and just let the world spin around me, not even trying to recover before I absolutely hand to.

Slowly I lifted his hand and licked the bitter fluid off, imagining the way he would groan as my tongue traced between the fingers. Only when all I could taste was clean skin did I let his hand fall again, and rolled over onto my side to bury my face in my pillow.

What the fuck was wrong with me? I'd just fucked myself with my partner's hand, imagining that he was the one doing it. Hell, if Shito ever realized what I'd been thinking, he'd probably just shoot me.

Assuming he wasn't doing it, too. I lifted my head enough to stare at the wall between us, wondering. Not that he would ever, ever admit it, if he were doing it. Not that I would ever admit it, either.

Maybe next time we had a party I could spike his drink, and make sure I was the first one he saw. The thought made me grin. The weirdo always hits on anything that moves when he's drunk, and he probably wouldn't even object to me pulling him into a dark room and getting my hand down his pants. And then I could find out if the real thing measured up - so to speak. I drifted off with that image firmly in mind, still smirking like a loon.

At least I could just go back to using my right hand.


End file.
